


Conquer the Silence

by LeChatRouge673



Series: Canon Verse Stories and Wanderings [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 14,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatRouge673/pseuds/LeChatRouge673
Summary: A month-long challenge originally written for fictober 2019, now available on AO3. Focuses on Cataline Howe (nee Cousland) and her journey through the events of Dragon Age Origins and Awakening.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe, Loghain Mac Tir/Female Trevelyan
Series: Canon Verse Stories and Wanderings [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/979848
Comments: 14
Kudos: 1





	1. Ring

Cataline was becoming uncomfortably familiar with the scent of death.

She had thus far managed to keep her stomach contents where they belonged, but the sight of the hulking, monstrous ogre feeding on what was once a human being set her to heaving, and it took every ounce of her remaining willpower to keep fighting; to keep pushing towards the precariously stacked altar of wood and tinder that she and the others had been tasked to light. There was a horrendous shriek as the ogre swatted aside the mage, followed by a sickening crunch as the poor man’s skull hit the wall and he collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll.

Cat took a running start and leapt onto the darkspawn behemoth’s back, her daggers sinking deeply into its twisted flesh. It unleashed a bone-rattling bellow of pain and rage, the sound ringing in her ears as she desperately tried to cling to her knives despite the blood and sweat making her hands slick. Steeling her nerves, she managed to free one of the blades and drove it into the monster’s neck before she finally dropped to the ground, the room spinning around her.

_ This is it. There are too many of them. We should have waited for reinforcements, we should never have drawn the darkspawn in, we should have never come here. They are all going to die; Loghain’s soldiers are not enough to make the difference. They are all going to die. I am going to die. _

The last thought left her oddly detached. Of all the lives that were going to be lost tonight, hers was the one she cared the least about. She thought of her family, so recently slaughtered in their own home where they should have been safe. She thought of her brother, still out there somewhere, who would be all alone in the world. She thought of her beloved cousin, Thea, who had been abandoned far too often. And she thought of Nathaniel, the man she had loved all her life and had never found the courage to tell.

With her last few ounces of strength, she crawled towards the signal fire. She reached into her pocket, retrieved her flint and steel, and after a few frustrating attempts managed to produce a few twinkling sparks. She dragged herself farther away from the flames as they caught the tinder, then the rest of the wood, and the signal blazed forth into the night.

_ I should not have done it. Now they will all die, too. _

It was the last thought she had before her exhaustion and pain finally overtook her, and the world went black.


	2. Mindless

She had never met a qunari, before. Odd, perhaps, given Highever’s proximity to the sea and the trade routes. Then again, Cat was only now beginning to realize just how sheltered her life at the castle had been. Her mother had taught her to fight, of course, but there was an impossible chasm between gleefully dancing around a training dummy and the horrifying reality of taking another life. She had been taught the ins and outs of governance, but being thrust into a leadership role against her wishes was something else entirely. It was not only her life on the line, or even that of her family. What remained of it, at least. No, now the fate of Ferelden and perhaps all of Thedas was cradled in her small, fragile grasp.

Both Morrigan and Leliana had urged her to seek freedom for the qunari that had been more or less left to die at the hands of the encroaching darkspawn, and Cat was desperate for whatever help she could get. The crimes he had been accused of were horrific, and yet there was a blunt honesty to his manner that she appreciated. Sten was willing to trade his life in a cage for a life fighting darkspawn and, for the moment, that was enough. 

Even better? Sten did not expect her to engage in mindless chatter. He did not expect her to smile or laugh, or to push away her anger or grief, or to share her life story with him. More than anything else, Cat was grateful for that. There were still no words for what she had been through; the nightmare she was _still_ living through. She and Sten exchanged information in small, carefully constructed doses, never revealing more than they intended, always respecting the boundaries of their situation. 

Sten was a warrior. Sten understood what it meant to sacrifice and to put the greater good ahead of one’s self. Sten understood what it meant to lead.

Cat prayed she would learn.


	3. Bait

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” Cat spoke carefully, mindful of the poor, terrified woman’s feelings. “You want me to make you traps? To catch darkspawn?”

“Just to keep them out of my home, my lady,” she replied timidly, wringing her hands at her waist. “I don’t need them baited or anything, just something to slow them down and make them think twice.”

Cat repressed the urge to sigh. “I am happy to help, miss, but I do not think a few snap traps are going to do much to keep the darkspawn at bay. You would be better off trying to pack up what you can and trying to make it north to Redcliffe, or even east to Gwaren.”

“I- I can’t, my lady,” the young woman whispered. “I’d never make it, and there’s no one else to take me in. This is my home. I’ve nowhere else to go.”

_ Me either _ , Cat thought to herself. “I will do what I can,” she finally conceded and, with Leliana’s help, she managed to cobble together a few wicked looking traps. They delivered them to the young woman, who thanked them effusively before hurrying back into her home. As turned to walk away, they could hear the clinks and thuds of locks being thrown.

“She should have left,” Cat finally exhaled, and Leliana reached a hand out to place on her shoulder. “Those traps are not going to do a damn thing to deter the horde. She is going to die, and it is my fault.”

“It is not your fault,” Leliana protested. “You warned her, and she chose not to heed that warning. And who knows? She may yet flee. In the meantime, you have done all you could.”

Cat shrugged, but her heart was heavy. “Maybe,” she agreed listlessly. “I cannot help but feel, however, that I have signed her death warrant by giving her those traps; by feeding into her belief that she will somehow be safe if she stays here. It is the same way I felt when I lit that damn signal fire at Ostagar.”

“But those soldiers did not die,” Leliana reminded her gently. “Remember? Morrigan said that Teryn Loghain pulled them back. He knew it was a hopeless cause, and he used his better judgement.”

“And that somehow excuses me not using mine?”

Leliana sighed. “Cataline, you will not be able to save everyone. Things are going to get worse before they get better. You _must_ look forward, not back. Learn from your mistakes, but do not dwell on them. And you are not so alone as you think you are.”

Despite herself, Cat managed a small smile. She tucked her arm in Leliana’s and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Lel,” she spoke quietly. “I needed the reminder. And the kick in the ass.” 

Her new friend laughed.

“Anytime.


	4. Freeze

Cat ran her fingers along the edge of the painting frame, dust clinging to her skin in their wake. The metal beneath her touch was cold, subject to the same deep freeze that had fallen over the entire keep in the decades since it had been abandoned. Soldier’s Peak was a veritable treasure trove of history, both of the wardens and of Ferelden itself, and part of her wished they could simply idle here for a time. 

“Thea would have loved this place,” she murmured quietly.

“Your cousin, yes?”

Cat startled, turning around to face Morrigan. The woman was damned quiet on her feet, and Cat had not even heard her approach. She nodded. “Yes. My favorite cousin. Really more like my sister, if we’re to be honest. We were raised together.”

“And she, what, enjoyed dusty, crumbling ruins?” Morrigan inquired with her usual skepticism.

Cat laughed softly. “In a manner of speaking. She loves history. Thea is alarmingly intelligent, and tended to spend a great deal of her time buried in books or out in the woods or by the sea, generally avoiding other people. She rarely had much use for them.”

“’Tis a most sensible attitude to have,” Morrigan noted with a rare glimmer of approval in her tone. “And it is… admirable… to want to unbury and preserve the past. There are far less worthwhile endeavors.”

Cat felt a pang in her heart, as she always did when she dwelled too long on thoughts of her family. “I think you would like her,” she said softly. “In some ways, you remind me of her a bit, though of course she is not a mage. She hates the circles; hates the control the chantry has, and the power the templars wield.”

“Does she truly?” Morrigan asked, her gaze seemingly focused on the painting in front of them, but Cat knew the witch’s attention was keenly focused on her. “And what of you, Lady Cousland? What are _your_ opinions of such institutions?”

Cat considered her words before she spoke. “I can see the purpose of circles as places of learning, but I cannot abide the idea of them as prisons. From what I understand, some are better than others, but what good does that do the mages who are stuck in the worse ones? And as much as I would like to believe in the Maker…” She hesitated, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “I agree with my cousin’s assessment: the chantry is a deeply broken institution, and the templars are given far too much leeway to abuse their charges.”

Morrigan did not respond for a moment, then she simply offered a shrug. “Reasonable enough, I suppose. At least you would not see us all caged and tamed like docile rabbits.”

Cat shook her head. “Not even remotely.”

The witch turned to walk away, then paused and turned back, a spark of something beyond her usual sardonic nature in her eyes. “I am not sorry I left the wilds with you, Cat. You are… you are acceptable.” She then turned on her heel and strode off before Cat could reply, but she still gave a small smile. 

“I’ll take it.”


	5. Build

Cat hated Kinloch Hold. She hated everything it represented, and she hated all the years of lies and manipulation it held within its soaring stone halls. She felt a great deal of pity for most of the mages there, though part of her still fought against the deeply ingrained prejudices she had against enchanters like Fiona, but even now she was enraged at the utter carelessness on the parts of both mages and templars that had led to this disaster.

Greagoir, at least, had seemed reasonable. Not likeable exactly: he was, after all, still a templar, but reasonable enough. Despite the obvious chaos he still seemed reluctant to engage the Rite of Annulment, and had at least been willing to give Cat and her companions a chance to save what could be saved. Cat had been given precious few of those opportunities as of late, and she was begrudgingly grateful to the knight-captain. 

“How could this have happened,” she heard Wynne whisper hoarsely beside her, their gaze drawn to a sprawl of bodies littering what was once a dining hall.

“Desperation,” Cat replied, exhaustion weighing down her reply. “Frustration. Hopelessness. Take your pick, Enchanter.”

“There is no excuse for this!” Wynne shot back. “All they have done is proven to the templars that we cannot be trusted! They have destroyed everything we have worked so hard to build.”

Cat bit back the retort on her tongue: that the circles were little more than prettied up prisons for many mages. She knew such was not the case everywhere: in Orlais, many mages were allowed to have homes and occupations and lives away from their circles, but such freedoms were rare in Ferelden. Wynne may have been indoctrinated into her belief that the circles were for the best, but Cat was not convinced.

“I lack your perspective and your experience,” she finally said, unwilling to fight this particular battle on this particular day. “This entire ordeal must be particularly difficult for you, Enchanter, but we will get through it together, I promise. We will make Uldren pay for what he has done.”

This seemed to calm the older woman, who offered Cat a kindly smile. “Thank you, Warden,” she replied warmly. “I have faith you will see this through.”

Cat managed a shaky smile in return.

_ I wish I did _ .


	6. Husky

“You know, you should really let me work on those shoulders of yours, my dear warden,” Zevran drawled, an unapologetically appreciative gaze running along her body as she picked at what was, allegedly, lamb stew. “I assure you I could do wonders to help you… relax. The whores who raised me taught me a great deal about the body, and I would consider myself remiss if I did not pass that knowledge along. 

Despite herself, Cat laughed. “Zevran, less than a week ago you were trying to kill me. Now you’re trying to get into my bedroll?”

He shrugged. “It was simply business, lovely Cataline. You know that.”

Her smile faded. Yes, she knew. She was still trying to understand that part, really. Why, oh _why_ was Loghain trying to have her killed? Loghain, the man who had known her family for years; who had always treated them with respect and courtesy if not exactly warmth? Had he not realized she was the other surviving warden? There had to have been a reason. Something, anything, to mitigate his actions. Loghain was not a bad man, and she refused to believe otherwise. Still, she could not deny he was making some incredibly bad decisions.

“Cataline,” Zevran spoke again, and his tone took on a gentler timbre beneath the husky lilt of his Antivan accent, “I did not intend to offend you.”

She shook her head, her ginger braid falling over her shoulder. “You did not,” she assured him, managing a small smile. “To be honest, it has been some time since anyone has so much as flirted with me, and I am flattered as well as grateful for the distraction. There are simply… many other things on my mind.”

“Ah, yes,” he nodded sagely. “Just so. Well, rest assured that when the time comes I will be more than happy to help you stick a knife through Rendon Howe’s heart. Bastard probably never even paid the fee he owed to the crows for the job, so no harm there.”

Cat frowned slightly. “What do you mean, Howe was supposed to pay you? I thought the Teryn put out the contract?”

Zevran shrugged. “No, he merely signed off on it. Did not seem terribly enthusiastic either, to be honest, but eh. I do not require enthusiasm: only prompt payment. It was Howe who first reached out to the Crows and, consequentially, me.”

“I see,” Cat replied softly, her thoughts clicking into place. _That certainly explains a lot_. “And do you know why, exactly, the Teryn is working with Howe?”

“Not the slightest,” Zevran admitted. “The politics did not terribly interest me, I’m afraid. Had I known where I would end up, perhaps I would have kept a closer ear to the ground, but it was not to be. So,” he grinned, “How about that massage?”

Cat considered for a moment. It was tempting… _so_ tempting. It has been a very long time since she had been with someone, and she had no doubt Zevran would know exactly how to make her forget the rest of her troubles for a time. Still…

“As grateful as I am for the offer,” she spoke slowly, “I think I will pass for now. I…” She could not finish the sentence, even as her memory drifted to raven dark hair and keen grey eyes that always seemed to soften a bit when they looked at her.

Zevran gave her a friendly pat on her shoulder. “You do not need to explain, Cataline,” he reassured her. “If you change your mind, my offer stands, but I will of course respect your wishes.”

“Thank you, Zev,” she smiled. “Now, how about we dissect this stew, see if we can’t tell the vegetables from the meat…”


	7. Enchanted

The cool, smooth metal of the amulet was a bittersweet balm amidst the hot sting of tears rolling down Cat’s cheeks. It appeared to be a simple thing: just a silver pendant on a delicate chain, but Wynne had studied it and found it to hold subtle but useful protective enchantments. Despite its mysterious origins, she found no malicious underpinnings to it, and so advised Cat that it was safe to wear.

Safe, yes. But still Cat could not bring herself to fasten the amulet around her neck. The day had been unbearably difficult, and now she wanted nothing more than to be left alone save for the company of Brutus, her loyal mabari. For the most part, her companions had been understanding, and those that had felt the need to press the issue had been chased off by Sten, who had taken up an informal watch outside her tent. She was grateful.

Wynne and Leliana expected her to somehow be awed by the power of the relic they had found that day, and maybe under other circumstances she would have been, but at the moment she could not summon any sort of emotion for the small pouch of ashes she had successfully retrieved from the temple in the mountains, beyond the small, eerie village of cultists known as Haven. The ashes were… well, ashes. Whether or not they were the earthly remains of a holy prophet was not for her to say: all she knew was that the quest for them had been urgent enough that people had died seeking them out, and curiosity had gotten the better of her.

It was that curiosity she was paying for now. Really, fighting off the deranged cultists had been the least of her problems. She was becoming alarmingly proficient at combat, which was another issue she simply could not dwell on at the moment. But then the ‘Guardian,’ whatever the void he had been, had the audacity to question whether or not she felt guilt over the death of her parents; if she believed she should have died there beside them. As if Cat did not ask herself that same question every damn day.

Yet the worst had been yet to come, as she soon discovered. In a stone antechamber, cold and silent as the grave, had stood the exact image of her father. In her heart of hearts, Cat had known it was not really him; could never be him. It was some spirit meant to, for whatever reason, offer her some small bit of comfort and encouragement before she faced the rest of the gauntlet that had been set for her. She had not bothered to hide the tears she had shed in that moment; could not have even had she wanted to. Instead, she had accepted the spirit’s offering of the amulet with shaking hands, then watching in silent misery as it faded slowly away, taking with it her last glimpse of her father.

A trial of faith, indeed.


	8. Frail

Cat had wondered just how long Eamon’s ‘frail old man’ act was going to last. 

Granted, he _had_ been through a great deal. Her interrogation of Jowan had revealed that, while Loghain had ordered the other man’s poisoning, it had never been meant to be fatal. Which made sense, as far as Cat was concerned: Loghain was not a stupid man, and outright killing Eamon would have been incredibly stupid and political suicide at a time when the other man could sorely afford to risk what shaky support he had in the capitol. Eamon’s death would have made him a martyr; his illness merely kept him quiet. 

Then of course there had been the extremely ill-timed possession of Connor, Eamon’s young son. Cat felt nothing but sympathy for the poor boy and what he had been through, and there had never been any question in her mind that, if there was a way to save him, she was going to find it. What she had not revealed, and would never admit, to the others was just how close she had come to allowing Isolde to sacrifice herself to save Connor. As far as Cat was concerned? Every life that had been lost in the castle and the village lay squarely at Isolde’s lying, manipulative feet. But that was not who Cat was. She was better than that, and Isolde’s life was not worth her own integrity.

Besides, the circle at Kinloch hold had come through for her, and the entire family had been saved. It was a choice that Cat was now deeply regretting. 

As soon as Eamon was well enough to make an appearance, he had immediately launched into his own designs for ‘helping’ her and for removing Loghain from power. If she had not been so disgusted Cat may have been impressed at the sheer willpower and audacity of the arl. She of course had absolutely no intention of removing Anora Mac Tir from her rightful throne, nor would she support any claimants who attempted to do so, but Eamon didn’t need to know that. Eamon needed to provide her with soldiers to fight the darkspawn, and if her listening politely while he waxed on about his plans for the throne was the price she had to pay, then so be it.

He had always underestimated her. Cat had always been the sweet-natured one; the gentle sunshine to warm hearts after the storm that was Thea. Cat was not ashamed of her kind heart any more than she was of her ginger hair or her violet eyes: it was simply who she was. But she was also her mother’s daughter, a daughter of the storm and the sea and spirited adventure. She had learned to govern at her mother’s side, and she knew that a silent smile or a polite laugh was sometimes a more effective weapon than a blade. Lessons in politics and etiquette went hand in hand, as did her education in a broad number of other subjects. She was not some stupid noblewoman, destined only to exist in her brother’s shadow. 

She was the daughter of a teyrn and an heiress to the Seawolf & Steed shipping empire. She may not have been in line to be teyrna, a role that would fall to Fergus, but as a Cousland and as a potential partner to either assist her brother and his wife or her own future husband, she was expected to be just as versed in governance as he was. Today, Eamon underestimated her, but he would learn. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even next week, but he would learn.

It would not be a pleasant lesson.


	9. Swing

The night air was cool and crisp this close to the Frostbacks. Sparks from the campfire drifted up towards the arcing vault of the deep, velvety blue of the sky to dance amidst the stars. The camp was quiet, for the moment: Wynne was working on a bit of mending while Leliana sat nearby and strummed a lute, and Sten was currently working through a surprisingly graceful series of swings and strikes with his newly recovered sword, Asala. Watching the way he moved with the blade, Cat could understand why he called it ‘soul.’ Morrigan was tinkering with some potion or another, and Zevran was asking a series of questions of Shale, the newest member of their party, who was able to show a remarkable amount of irritation and sarcasm for a golem.

Cat leaned back against the tree she had settled down by and tried to relax. She knew this was likely the last quiet moment they would have before they entered Orzammar. It would be her last chance for who knew how long to look up at the endless expanse of sky and see the brightness of the stars twinkling down at her. She wished Thea was there: her cousin had always possessed an uncharacteristic romantic streak when it came to the stars and constellations. She’d often told Cat their stories, her face lighting up with a rare joy as she spoke.

She sighed, the sound earning her a concerned look from Brutus from where he had curled up beside her. Cat gave him an affectionate scritch behind the ears and he settled back down, snuffling slightly. As far as she knew, Thea was safe. She had been in Ostwick at the time of the massacre, though she surely would have had word of it by now. Right now, Cat’s greatest fear outside of the archdemon itself was that Thea was going to do something reckless or dangerous or both in her attempts to get back to Ferelden. The younger woman was fiercely loyal to Cataline, but she was also hopelessly and silently in love with Loghain Mac Tir, and the entire situation was a recipe for bad decisions and a maelstrom of temper from Thea. 

There was nothing to be done about it, at least for the moment. For now, she had to focus on rallying as many allies as she could in a desperate, possibly vain attempt to halt the spread of the blight and the scourge of the archdemon. Tomorrow, Cataline and her companions would enter through the stone gates of Orzammar and descend into its mountain halls. 

Maker willing, they would have to descend no further.


	10. Pattern

Cat did not need to hear the argument that was taking place outside the imposing stone gates of Orzammar. She could guess the trouble as soon as she saw the all too familiar wyvern heraldry on the back of the emissary’s shield. How often had she seen her cousin painstakingly tracing it on bits of scrap parchment she’d scrounged up around Highever? About as many times as the younger woman had rapidly hidden it when she realized Cat was looking.

The memory brought a small smile to her face even as the uneasy feeling in her stomach grew. She gestured to her companions to follow, and they approached the already annoyed looking guard and the delegation from the Fereldan capitol. With more confidence than she truly felt, Cat spoke up. “I have need to speak with Orzammar’s king.”

“You and everybody else,” the emissary muttered.

Cat nodded slowly. “Perhaps,” she agreed, “But I have a treaty between Orzammar and the Grey Wardens. We need our traditional dwarven allies in our fight against the blight.”

The emissary’s eyes narrowed. “It’s _you_ ,” he hissed, drawing his sword. At his side, the mage began conjuring a spell and the other fighter drew their weapon as well, falling into a fighting stance. Cat took a deep breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yes, it is me. I have no desire to fight you, however, if you press the issue I certainly will. And I will win.” 

At her side, Cat could hear the subtle grinding and shifting of stone as Shale moved closer to her side, the glittering pattern of new crystals on their shoulders and wrists glittering even in the muted sunlight of the mountain. Wynne had already cast a ward over them, and Sten was simply staring at their opponents, allowing his sheer presence and the intensity of his gaze do the intimidating for him. 

The emissary seemed to consider for a moment, then gave a frustrated wave of his hand to the others. Once they had stood down, Cat stepped forward carefully, until she was face to face with the man and he was forced to look her in the eyes. “I have spared your life,” she spoke softly, “And in return, you are going to take a message to your Teryn.”

“And what message is that?” He asked, his tone still haughty but with an undeniable undercurrent of uncertainty.

“ _Why?_ ”

Whatever the man saw in Cat’s eyes in that instant, all his bravado and arrogance left him. He dropped his gaze to the ground and began backing away. “A-aye, my lady,” he muttered. “I will tell him.” 

With that, they delegation scurried off, and Cat turned back to the mountainside and the great gates. Squaring her shoulders, she took her first steps into the stone.


	11. Snow

For the first time in her adult life, Cat found herself yearning for snow.

Or more precisely, the frigid cold that came with snow. Maker, but Orzammar was _warm_. She could not understand how the dwarves stood it, other than sheer acclimation. They had barely been wandering around the towering monoliths and carved edifices for more than a few hours, and already she felt as though she were about ready to melt out of her armor, light as it was. Below the spanning bridges and under the watchful eyes of paragons long dead, great pools and rivers of lava flowed lazily and inexorably, heating the entire dwarven city, and generally making Cat miserable.

Shale, of course, did not notice one way or another, and was mostly entertaining themselves by coming up with new and imaginative ways the ‘squishy ones’ might meet their untimely demise. Sten had simply shrugged and said it was not so different from the humid jungles of Seheron, but darker and without the thick vegetation. Only Cat and Wynne, born and raised in the more temperate climes of Ferelden, seemed to be having issues.

The lava was not the only thing running hot, either: tempers seemed to be flaring as well in the dwarven kingdom. Cat and her companions had managed to meet with the assembly only to learn that Orzammar currently _had_ no king, and therefore had no one who could negotiate with her to send soldiers to the surface to aid against the blight. They had also been approached by representatives for both of the contenders for the throne, and at the moment they were taking a brief sojourn in Tapster’s Tavern in an attempt to cool off and decide what to do.

“Here,” Wynne slid back onto the bench beside her and pressed a few surprisingly cold rune stones into Cat’s hand. When Cat raised an eyebrow in question, the mage just smiles and shrugged. “I was able to barter with one of those rough and tumble looking types in the back. He is clearly suffering from some sort of head cold and, while I was not able to heal it directly due to their resistance to magic, I did convince him to trade some of these cooling runes for a few poultices we had a surplus of.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Cat sighed with relief as she carefully slotted the runes into her armor, making sure the supple leather bound to the stones as it was meant to. “Perhaps now we won’t bake during our time here.”

Wynne laughed. “We can only hope.”


	12. Dragon

“ _Shit_.”

Cat heard Oghren mutter a string of additional swears after his initial invective, and to be honest she agreed with him. ‘Shit’ seemed to just about sum up their situation right now.

She hated the deep roads. She honestly, genuinely, truly hated the deep roads. Whatever they had once been, no matter how grandiose or important or lively, now they were simply the paths of the dead and forgotten. It had been her sincere intention to avoid going anywhere near the damned deep roads during her time in Orzammar, but one bad circumstance after another had forced her hand, and now here they were, practically knocking on the archdemon’s door and asking to be invited in for tea.

When they had first emerged from the tunnel leading into the Dead Trenches, Cat had nearly lost her nerve entirely: seeing the mass of darkspawn sprawled out like a living river in the canyon below had been bad enough. Having the monstrous, deformed dragon singing its twisted song above the melee was far worse. She had seen the archdemon in dreams before, of course, but this was something else entirely. This made her nightmares look like pleasant daydreams.

She thought it could not possibly get any worse. And of course, she was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

The writhing, bloated monstrosity flailing about in front of them had been a dwarf, once, but whatever the darkspawn had done to her had warped her into a horrendous creature suited only to their own purposes. The wraith-like figure of Hespith had given them a few clues as to what had happened, but nothing could have prepared them for what she had named _broodmother_ , a word she spoke with disgust and awe and fear all in the same breath.

_ How many female wardens have gone down here to ‘die with honor’? And how many met this fate? _

Cat made a decision, in that moment. She would kill this poor creature even as it lashed out at them. She would grant it the mercy it could not show them. And then, if she managed to survive the blight and the war and the rest of the madness, she would have a new goal.

She was going to find a cure for the Calling.


	13. Ash

Cat was tired of feeling empty.

It was a feeling she could not voice aloud, not really. Not with everyone else in their ragtag little party looking to her for leadership and guidance and strength. All the things she had, in fact, been trained for all her life but had never really been expected to take on. Everywhere they went, she was making decisions that would have consequences reaching far beyond that place. It was suffocating, almost: she had never wanted any of this, and though her friends assured her she was doing admirably Cat sure as the void did not feel like she was.

The trip to Orzammar was only the latest in a long line of world-changing choices she had been asked to make. Part of her wished she had never gone into the deep roads; had never found Branka or Caridin or brought back that damned crown forged on the Anvil of the Void, the fragments of which were even now languishing in the unforgiving heat of the lava flows. When she had arrived at the assembly, covered in ash and blood and Maker only knew what else, she had very nearly just thrown the damn crown at their feet and told them to figure it out themselves.

“But you did not, of course.”

Cat sighed, leaning dipping deeper into the water as Leliana worked at her scalp, trying to get the last bits of detritus out of the long, ginger locks. “No, of course not. I was not raised that way. To be blunt, neither one of the candidates was… well… good? But what else was I to do? Bhelan almost certainly engineered the murders of his father and sibling, but I had no proof. Even if I did, I still think Harrowmont would have been a worse choice. He is so concerned with preserving caste and clan and tradition that he almost certainly would have ended up closing off Orzammar completely. The downtrodden will become even more so, while the upper class will gain even more power and wealth and privilege.”

“I think you made the right choice, Cat,” Leliana agreed, her voice soothing in contrast to the anxiety rising in her own. “Here, I am going to rub some of this oil into your hair, see if we cannot banish the worst of the smoke smell.”

“Thank you, Lel,” Cat replied gratefully. She had almost forgotten how nice it was to simply care for herself, and she was utterly thankful that she had made a friend who was willing to remind her. When Leliana had finished, Cat allowed herself to relax and simply float on the water. It was rare they were able to camp by a lake; even rarer that it was one not made frigid by mountain runoff. Gazing up at the stars for the first time in too long, Cat was almost at peace again. “Think we can just stay here for a bit? Maybe forget responsibilities for a while?”

Leliana giggled quietly, then breathed a soft sigh of contentment.

“Yes, my friend. I think perhaps we can.”


	14. Overgrown

They must have been beautiful, once; the graceful stone arches and soaring columns of the Tevinter ruins that littered the Brecilian Forest. There was an eerie calmness to the place that, rather than setting Cat at ease, made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and put all of her senses on high alert. She knew it was a false serenity, and one that was all too eager to lull her into a misguided sense of security.

Zathrian’s promise of aid had come with a price, of course: everyone wanted something from her. She was used to it by now. What chafed at her was that he was clearly lying about something, or at the very least he knew more than he was telling her. Cat did not appreciate going into a dangerous situation half blind, and she certainly did not appreciate being manipulated. Still, the task did not seem too daunting, at least from the outside: find the wolf, kill it, end the curse. Really, after the broodmother, a simple werewolf infestation did not seem so bad.

But then things had gotten complicated. Of course, they had. First, she had actually _spoken_ with one of the werewolves, and he seemed no more inclined to fight her than she did him. If anything, Swiftrunner had confirmed Cat’s suspicions that Zathrian was lying to her. Then there had been the talking tree which, granted, had been a nice change from the ones that had simply attacked her, and the ghost campsite, and the mad hermit that… that lived in a tree stump? She was still trying to wrap her mind around that one.

“It is beautiful, in its way, is it not?”

Cat was shaken from her thoughts by Zevran, who had been uncharacteristically quiet as they pressed deeper into the forest. He was looking at a statue that was not of Tevinter origin at all, but rather looked to be a loving sculpted rendition of a halla, its graceful horns overgrown with vines that trailed down its back. “It is,” she agreed, her voice hushed in deference to the stillness of the woods. 

“Growing up in a city, so far away from all of this, from my mother’s culture… it all seems so foreign,” Zevran opined, his voice distant. “It is strange to face the life I might have had, if things had gone differently.” His thumbs ran absently over the soft, embroidered leather gloves Cat had insisted he keep after she had found them in a chest deep in the woods. “Do you ever wonder, my dear Cataline, what might have been?”

“All the time,” she murmured. “And I shouldn’t. I had a good life; a wonderful life.”

Zevran shrugged, and she could tell he was struggling to regain the casual attitude he took towards most things. “That does not mean you cannot mourn the paths that were taken from you,” he pointed out. “But then,” he flashed a grin in her direction, “That would mean you would have never been graced with my roguish and charming presence.”

Cat took the cue. She smiled back, allowing him to change the subject. 

“Well there you go,” she laughed. “Silver lining.”


	15. Legend

Cat had never thought of herself as a petty person. In fact, of the three children growing up at Castle Highever, she was considered the reasonable, gentle, responsible one. And for most of her life, Cat had been more than happy to occupy that role. However, she was no longer the same woman she had been all those years ago. She had changed.

And she was not entirely certain she was sorry, either.

It had been more entertaining than she ever could admit spreading a minor crime wave, or more like a crime ripple, through the city of Denerim. Cat was already on edge being back in the city, and having no choice but to accept Eamon’s offer of hospitality while they were there was not helping matters in the slightest. When she had been approached by a roguish character with a shock of red hair and a kindly face who offered her a chance to strike back in small, subtle ways against the worst of the nobility, it had been far too easy for her to agree.

She would have never considered herself a thief before now, but it turned out she had a knack for it. That sweet face was all too easily used to manipulate marks, and her calm, reasoned words made it child’s play to trick those who would never dream such a well-born lady would have anything but the purest of intentions. And there was absolutely nothing like the thrill of robbing Lady Sophie, Arl Howe’s mistress, absolutely blind while she was off ‘taking the air’ in the country. Even better had been the rush she’d gotten ‘re-appropriating’ the cache of embezzled treasure Howe had skimmed from the royal treasury.

‘A legend.’ Slim Couldry had used those exact words when he had described his plans for the latest heist. Cat could not care less about being a legend, really. She already knew she was probably going to accept the job, time permitting. The challenge would be good for her, and she knew Zevran was intrigued by the idea as well. But as far as being a legend? She suspected that part was greatly overrated.

She ran her thumb over the cold, smooth metal of the helm that was her most recent acquisition. Its absence would irritate Loghain, no question. He might even be angry. And maybe, someday, she might just consider giving it back to him. But right at the moment, she was feeling petty. 

And maybe even legends needed to be reminded that they were only human.


	16. Wild

Cat walked calmly out the front doors of Fort Drakon and out into the streets of Denerim. She was grateful for the guard armor she had managed to ‘borrow’ from the armory as she was quite sick of death at the moment and had absolutely no desire to fight her way through the barracks. She turned down a quiet side street where she shed the armor that did not quite fit, tucking it behind a waste bin where its presence would inevitably confuse the home’s residents when they found it. She kept her pace leisurely as she strolled down another side street, then another, eventually finding her way to a rare quiet corner in the bustling city.

There, she sat, and she sobbed.

Her strength was gone. She questioned how much she had really possessed to begin with. It should not have ended this way; it should not have _had_ to end this way. She should have tried harder to talk him down; to force him to face justice rather than her blades. Rendon Howe had not given her a choice. She knew, deep in her heart, that he would have killed her and reveled in the deed. Cat wished she could tap into that same certainty. Instead, she had simply given into the wild, frantic pulsing of her heart and the sheer wave of rage that had washed over her as Rendon had taunted her. She had lost control.

Would Nathaniel ever forgive her? Could she even ask him to?

What had she become? Was this the inevitable conclusion to the trauma she had endured? She had murdered Rendon in his own home, just as he had murdered her parents, her sister-in-law, and her nephew. This was justice. This was revenge. So why did it not feel any better? Why did she simply feel hollow?

Cat had no answers. She also knew she did not have the luxury of time in which to seek them. The others would be frantic, possibly even planning a rescue attempt, not knowing she had already engineered her own escape from the dungeons of Fort Drakon. She took a deep breath, then stood up and began walking in the direction of Arl Eamon’s Denerim estate.


	17. Ornate

She had not been inclined to answer most of the questions she had been peppered with when she returned to the estate. For once in her life, Cat refused to play the diplomat, and instead gave a blunt, bare bones explanation of what had happened between the time they had rescued Anora and when Cat had escaped the prison, then retreated to her room and shut the door firmly behind her. She had shed her armor in favor of soft leather pants and a simple linen blouse, then collapsed on the bed. Right now, she did not have the physical, emotional, or mental energy to deal with Eamon, or anyone, really.

Therefore, she was more than a little annoyed when she heard a soft knock at the door. 

She did not answer, but this did nothing to deter her visitor, who opened the door anyways. “I am afraid I am not in a fit state to have company at the moment,” she spoke, her tone more snippy than usual. 

“Perhaps not, but if nothing else I thought some hot tea might make you feel better.”

Cat sat up and faced the calm, but weary, face of Queen Anora Mac Tir. She sighed, then nodded dejectedly. Anora gave her a small smile, then sat the delicate, overly ornate teacup on the bedside table. Cat gestured to the spot beside her, and Anora accepted it. “I would bet coin Isolde is responsible for picking out those monstrosities,” she pointed out dryly, indicating the teacup, and Cat laughed despite herself.

“Smart bet,” she agreed, taking a sip and letting the warmth of the tea and herbs and lemon bloom on her tongue. “Thank you, Nora. I think I really did need this.”

Her friend reached out and gave her hand a brief squeeze. Both women were silent for a bit, Cat sipping her tea and Anora content to simply sit with her. Finally, Cat set the empty cup aside and exhaled slowly. “What are we going to do about your father, Nora?”

Anora’s seemed to lose her strength, then. “I do not know, Cat,” she admitted. “I know he was only trying to protect me and to protect Ferelden, and I truly believe the worst of it was suggested or encouraged by Howe, but…” she shrugged in a rare gesture of helplessness. “I do not know. I do not want my father to die.” Her normally calm, level voice was shaking, and Cat felt a surge of pity for her.

“I do not want him to die either, Nora,” she said, leaning against her friend and resting her head on Anora’s shoulder. “I will think of something, but he is making it incredibly difficult.”

“Trust me,” Anora remarked dryly as she carefully smoothed Cat’s hair against her head, “I am aware. Does your cousin know?”

“Thea?” Cat shook her head. “I have no idea. Probably. She will have been listening for any news, and there is no way word has not reached her in Ostwick. As to what she plans on doing, well,” Cat gave another sigh. “I have no idea,” she repeated. “But to answer your unasked question, yes, that is one more reason I would just as soon spare your father’s life.”

Anora gave a soft laugh then. “I do not wish to see Thea in a temper, certainly. In any case, I should probably go. The Landsmeet will be upon us sooner than I would like, and I must do what I can to prepare.” She pressed a kiss to Cat’s forehead, then stood and collected the empty teacup. When she reached the door, her hand hovered briefly over the handle as she turned back to Cat. 

“I am sorry, Cat. For all you have lost.”

Cat managed a weak smile.

“So am I, Nora.”

_ And for all that we may yet lose. _


	18. Misfit

She liked this place. Liked it a lot, really. The Pearl was a wonderful place to just disappear: where she was no more a misfit than anyone else who slunk in its doors. Most people did not recognize her and did not much care about her presence there any more than she cared about theirs; which is to say, not at all. The people who might have recognized her were exactly the people who would be utterly mortified if it got out they’d been visiting The Pearl, and they were keenly aware that their mutual silence was beneficial all around.

Most importantly of all, this was hands down the best place to gather information, and information was what she needed more than anything right now. It was almost _too_ easy, really: pillow talk was a veritable treasure trove of gossip and rumor and, if one had the patience to sift through it all, absolute gems of real, useful information. The lovely ladies and gentlemen working there were more than happy to pass that information on to her in exchange for coin. Most of them figured it would be the easiest money they earned all night. 

Besides, the drinks were good, and Sanga was content enough to leave her be so long as she paid her tab, was respectful to the staff, and did not scare off her other customers. It was a place she could sit and watch and listen, and no one else paid her any mind because they were so focused on their own gratification that they could not be bothered to care about anyone else around them. It was a perfect setup.

“You sure I can’t tempt you, Kitten?” Isabela purred in her ear, lips spiced with rum and cinnamon tracing the line of her neck.

“You’ve already tempted me, Bela,” Thea replied, a half-smile tilting at her lips. “I am thoroughly and completely tempted; however, I am afraid I still must decline. I promise, if there were a single man or woman in this building I would bed, it would be you. A neat trick on your part, given that you do not even work here, but alas it is not to be.” 

_ Because the shattered pieces of my heart already belong to someone else. _

“Oh, fine,” Isabela sighed with a mock pout. “But if you change your mind…”

“I know where to find you, should you still be in port,” Thea assured her, leaning back and pressing a kiss to her lips before standing up and collecting her things. “In the meantime, you have my sincere thanks for the information. I daresay it is time I headed towards the esteemed arl’s estate, see if my darling cousin is in fact in residence there.”

“Anytime, Kitten,” Isabela grinned, giving Thea a final smack on her ass as she walked out the door.

Thea just laughed.


	19. Sling

Cat took a deep breath, studying her reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time that day. She was not ready for this; could not be ready for it. They should not have been here at all. They should have all been focused on defeating the blight, not on tearing down the Hero of River Dane.

Where had it all gone so wrong?

He had refused to meet her eyes that first day they had arrived in Denerim. Howe had openly taunted her and Cauthrien had, of course, been quick to defend her commanding officer, but Loghain himself had mostly addressed Eamon, speaking to Cat only in asides and never turning to truly face her. She knew he was not proud of where they had ended up, just as she knew he had only done what he had because he believed, truly, that he was defending his daughter and his homeland. 

So much of what he had done, she understood. She could defend. Some she could not. And his intentions did not make it right. There had to be some sort of reckoning, but damned if she knew what form it would take. Anora, at least, was on her side, just as staunchly as Cat was on hers. Between the two of them and the support they had both worked doggedly to gather, the throne would stay with her, and Ferelden would be better off for it.

Cat carefully double checked her armor, ensuring the blades slung about her waist were within easy reach should she need them. She was praying the Landsmeet would not descend into that particular breed of chaos, but she was also not naïve enough to take the risk. She was so tired of fighting, and there was still so much of it to be done that she would gladly go without having to spill the blood of her countrymen.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Thea stepped in, silent as a shadow. Cat had been overjoyed to be reunited with her cousin, even as her heart broke at the sight of her. There was a mask there; a determined refusal to let anyone know what was really going on behind those storm blue eyes. Thea’s heart was breaking, and what happened today could well determine if it remained fragile but intact, or utterly shattered.

“It is time, Catkin,” she spoke softly. Cat nodded, then stood and joined Thea at the door. They would walk into the Landsmeet together, drawing strength from each other as they always had, but Thea would have to stand in the gallery above during the proceedings. She was a daughter of house Cousland in everything but name, but unfortunately the name was what would count today. As such, her presence was still a topic of no small amount of gossip: Theadosia Livia Trevelyan represented both Ostwick and one third of the Seawolf & Steed trading empire. While she would not have an official vote, her preferences would be known and taken into account.

Unfortunately, those preferences had already raised the hackles of some of Cat’s companions. 

“I do not want to do this, Thea,” she whispered as they walked through the eerily silent halls and out the front doors of the estate.

“I know, Catkin,” Thea replied, her soothing tone belied by the faint tremble in the arm she slipped through Cat’s. “I will be there. I will not let _anything_ happen to you. All will be well.” 

The way she said it, Cat almost believed it.

Almost.


	20. Tread

The estate was too quiet when they returned that afternoon to perform the ritual that would either see Loghain Mac Tir made a warden or dead. Eamon had not returned, though he had stiffly informed Cat that her and her companions were still welcome to stay the night in his home. That last bit had been pointed and clipped, and Cat had no doubt they would all be expected to have disappeared by morning, which was fine by her. She wanted to get the void out of the city and back into the wilds.

Riordan and Loghain were already waiting for her when she walked into the room, followed close on her heels by Thea. Riordan frowned slightly at the younger woman’s presence, and Thea matched his expression with a defiant tilt of her chin and sparks in her eyes. The message was clear.

_ Just you try and remove me _ .

“Warden Cousland,” he began, choosing his words with tact and care, “You know our rituals are not-” 

“She stays,” Cat interrupted him, too tired and too angry to put up with any more of the wardens’ secrets. Void, she had already broken a half dozen of their rules today anyways, what was one more? Loghain glanced at her briefly, but his attention was drawn to Thea, and Cat could tell that, despite everything, he was curious about her: her blatant defiance, and her apparent willingness to tread carelessly over warden matters. 

Riordan just sighed and shrugged, then reached for the heavy silver chalice that contained the darkspawn blood. “Loghain Mac Tir,” he intoned solemnly, “From this moment on, you are a grey warden.”

Loghain accepted the chalice. “I- I understand,” he said, resigned acceptance in the words. He tipped the cup back, and drank. Then, like they all did, he collapsed on the floor. Riordan moved as though to confirm whether or not the other man had lived or died, but Thea held up a single hand. To Cat’s surprise, Riordan complied with the implicit command, stopping short and allowing her to kneel beside Loghain. Pale, slender fingers reached out and tentatively felt for a pulse. Cat watched as her cousin’s shoulders slumped then, as Thea turned to face her, she gave a small, relieved nod.

Cat released the breath she had not realized she had been holding while Thea remained on the floor, her expression surprisingly tender as she placed a gentle hand against Loghain’s cheek. “I should go,” she murmured, though she seemed reluctant to do so. “You will need to be here when he wakes up, but I should not press my luck.”

Cat stepped closer and placed a hand on Thea’s shoulder. “It will be alright,” she promised. “The worst part is over.”

Thea looked up at her, smiling sadly.

“No, Catkin. I fear the worst is yet to come.”


	21. Treasure

The camp seemed to be divided more or less into three factions in regard to what happened in Denerim. Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan were firmly on Cat’s side, Wynne and Oghren were still unhappy, and Sten and Shale expressed no opinion whatsoever. Brutus, of course, was loyal to whoever was slipping him tidbits at any given time. Which was, surprisingly, often Loghain himself. Cat could not help but smile a bit at the friendship that had struck up between the man and her dog.

And of course, there was Thea, who nearly always rode beside him when they traveled. Near as Cat could tell they did not speak much, but Loghain seemed to appreciate her presence even if he would not admit it. And having her there kept Thea from getting into too much trouble needling at Wynne or Oghren, often egged on by Zevran.

“It seems your cousin has a taste for older men, yes?” Zevran gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “Pity. She seems as though she would be the adventurous type.”

Cat gave a brief snort of amusement. “That she would be. But yes,” she glanced back to where Loghain and Thea were having a quiet conversation, and for the first time in ages she thought Thea actually looked happy. “I would say she is attracted to _one_ man, anyways.”

“You did the right thing, you know,” Zevran said, his tone unusually thoughtful. “Sparing his life. He is not a bad man, as such. He just made bad choices. Many of us do, from time to time.”

“Yes, Zevran, but how many times have _your_ bad choices sparked a civil war?”

Zevran considered for a moment, and seemed to be counting off on his fingers. “Only three,” he finally admitted, and Cat laughed before he continued. “Still, my dear Cataline, I admire the strength it took to let him live. It is an honor to fight alongside a commander who understands mercy as well as justice.”

Cat smiled. “And here I thought you were only in it for the treasure,” she teased, and Zevran flashed her his dazzling grin.

“Well, there is _always_ the treasure.”


	22. Ghost

“Are you still angry with me?”

Cat waited uncertainly as Thea poked at the fire, sending sparks flying into the night. Her expression was, if not exactly warm, at least calm, which was a good sign. There was an uncomfortable span of silence, and then the younger woman finally sighed and shook her head. “No, Catkin. I am not angry. I wish you had listened to me, and I wish you had not gone disturbing ghosts that should have been left to rest, but I am not angry.”

“I do not regret going back,” Cat replied softly, taking a seat beside Thea on the log they’d dragged closer to the fire. “I needed to, even if it was painful. But you were right: I should not have forced Loghain to go with me. He needs to be allowed to grieve and heal in his own time, not on my schedule. And I certainly should have stopped Wynne from needling him long before I did.”

“Yes. You should have.”

Cat winced slightly at the bluntness in Thea’s words, but when her cousin reached out a hand to her, she accepted the gesture. “You two were talking for quite a while down by the lake,” she pointed out, trying to make it an observation rather than a question and failing. “Anything worth repeating?”

Thea considered for a moment, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “He told me his promise to you is not the only reason he stays,” she finally said, her voice soft and warmed by just the slightest trace of hope. Cat smiled.

“He cares for you, you know,” she said, and Thea looked away.

“I am not sure I would go so far as that,” she replied, her words careful. “But… but I suppose I can hope.” They were quiet for a moment, and then Thea asked, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Cat stared into the flames, trying to decide how she wanted to answer. “Yes,” she finally said. “I think so. We will take Cailan’s armor back to Anora. She deserves to have it. And I killed… well, re-killed, the ogre that took Cailan’s life, so that was something. But it was difficult. More difficult than I thought it would be.” She hesitated, and was almost surprised to feel tears running down her cheeks. “It makes me wonder if I will ever be able to go back to… to Highever.”

“Oh, Catkin,” Thea sighed, wrapping her arm around Cat’s shoulders and pulling her close. Cat leaned her head against Thea’s shoulders, letting herself cry for the first time since Denerim. “I wish I had an answer for you. You know you will always have a home in Ostwick, if you like. Margot would be happy to have you there. And I am sure Anora would be more than happy to set you up somewhere in Ferelden if you wanted to stay. Or…” Thea hesitated, then said, “Or I am sure there is someone else in the Marches who would be overjoyed to see you again.”

“Thea, I killed his father,” Cat wept, almost choking on the words. “Nathaniel will probably never want to see me again.”

Thea rubbed her shoulder soothingly, her own eyes drifting up towards her beloved stars. 

“Do not give up hope, Cat. If we survive this, we will need it.”


	23. Ancient

She felt surprisingly better the next day, after having had a good cry on Thea’s shoulder. Her cousin had sent her off to bed with a shot of whiskey and a few more comforting words, and Cat had slept soundly until Leliana had woken her for the early morning watch. Normally Cat hated having to get up so early, but on this particular morning it was almost nice to have a few quiet moments to herself as the grey light of dawn crept over the world. In the stillness of the morning, she could hear the quiet calls of birds and frogs from the lake, and there was a peacefulness in her soul that had grown more and more rare of late.

The rest of the camp would be stirring soon, and they would have to get on their way towards Redcliffe sooner rather than later. Summer was drawing to its inexorable close, but the days were still warm, and the more distance they could cover before the hottest part of the day, the better. For now, though, Cat was content to sit nestled amidst the roots of a sprawling, ancient tree, its limbs swaying gracefully in the breeze and sending the occasional leaf fluttering to the ground beside her.

In moments like this, Cat could almost forget just how dire their situation was. She could forget that Wynne and Oghren were barely speaking to her, or that she still did not have the slightest idea what had happened to her brother, or that they were still facing overwhelming odds. Instead, she could briefly remember what it was like to simply be _Cataline_ : to feel joy and hope and love. There was still goodness in the world, and there was still hope. She had to believe that.

From the far side of the camp where Loghain had set up his tent well away from the others, she saw the first signs of movement. Not surprising, given that he was nearly always the first one up. She knew he had not been sleeping well either, and only in part because of the blight-induced nightmares. However, it was not Loghain that emerged: it was Thea, her hair tumbling down her back in mussed waves and her boots in her hand. When Cat caught her eye and raised a single eyebrow in her direction, Thea merely gave a shrug and a small, satisfied half-smile before wandering down in the direction of the lake. 

Shortly after, Loghain emerged, and when he saw Cat he froze for a brief moment, his glance darting briefly in the direction Thea had gone. When Cat shot him a broad, beaming grin, he just rolled his eyes, but not before Cat caught the slightest flicker of a smile on his lips as well. He followed the path Thea had taken, and Cat settled back down against the tree with a quiet breath of laughter.

Yes. There was still some good in the world.


	24. Dizzy

The world was spinning and she could not make it stop. She wanted to throw up, but she was not certain there was anything left in her stomach. She felt dizzy and light-headed but, much to her surprise, not in pain. Perhaps she was just numb; she honestly did not know. Or maybe she really had died. Maybe Morrigan’s magic had failed, and she was in the Fade.

“Cataline.” A steady, familiar voice reached her ears, and she was finally able to open her eyes. “Cataline, are you alright?”

Cat opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the sudden blaze of sunlight that had broken through the clouds above Denerim. Kneeling beside her were Loghain and Sten, both studying her with a surprising amount of concern. She managed to roll her head to the left where a dusting of ashes and a pool of blood was all that remained of the archdemon. “Did we… did we kill it?” She asked, struggling to form the words in her ash-choked mouth.

“It seems to be dead,” Sten confirmed. “As it turns out, poking it with your sword was reasonably effective. I stand corrected.”

Cat laughed, then immediately regretted it as a pain rose up in her ribs. She had probably broken at least one when she fell from the back of the archdemon. She did not argue when Loghain and Sten helped her up, propping her between the two of them as they slowly made their way back down the tower, trying not to look to closely at the carnage that had been wrought. Morrigan, true to her word, had vanished. Cat felt a pang at the loss of her friend, but she also realized it was probably for the best. Thea, who had gotten on with Morrigan better than most, was still struggling with the price the witch had demanded for a chance of survival. 

“We made it,” she whispered as they finally emerged from Fort Drakon. “We actually made it.”

“Of course we did, Cataline,” Loghain replied. “Because of you. You have saved the world.”

Cat shook her head stubbornly. “I did not do it alone, you know.”

“No good general ever does,” Sten pointed out. “But even the best army needs an effective leader. You are that leader.”

Cat did not have a good response to that, nor did she have the energy to argue. Maybe, just maybe, she could accept this victory.

“Come on,” she nudged Loghain in the ribs with her elbow. “Let’s go find the others. I know there is a certain redhead who is probably on a warpath of her own trying to find us.”


	25. Taste

The throne room was thronged with people, and the joy and euphoria in the air was so palpable she could almost taste it. Cat was exhausted, but she knew the people needed to see her; needed the victory she represented. She moved amongst them, taking their hands in hers when offered, speaking a few quiet words with her gentle smile as needed. Her friends and companions were all there, save Morrigan, each with their own circle of admirers peppering them with questions and praise. All except Loghain, who had taken up a spot away from the crowd and was simply doing his best to blend into the background, Thea at his side, her fingers laced in his. 

“I almost pity anyone who tries to even so much as look at my father wrong,” Anora noted, walking up alongside Cat and looking in the same direction she was. “I daresay Thea would not hesitate to spill a bit more blood for the sake of teaching the others a lesson.”

Cat laughed softly. “She loves him,” she shrugged. 

“And he loves her,” Anora agreed with a satisfied smile. “They will be good for each other. In the meantime, I will be keeping him in Ferelden for as long as I can, so I imagine Thea will be staying at his side here. Hopefully I can persuade you to stay, as well? At least for a time. I know your responsibilities at Vigil’s Keep will eventually require your presence, as my offer to grant the wardens the arling is entirely contingent on your being in charge.”

“Eventually,” Cat confirmed slowly. “I admit, I- I am not eager to leave. Amaranthine has… complicated memories.”

Anora nodded sympathetically. “I know. I am sorry, Cat. But you deserve a chance to build something of your own, and it was either Amaranthine or Gwaren, the former being better suited for the wardens simply because it is a more accessible location. And who knows? Perhaps if the long lost Howe son hears that _you_ are the one taking over Amaranthine, he may be more inclined to come back.”

Cat sighed. _If he does not simply want me dead_.

“Maybe, Anora. Maybe.”


	26. Dark

Cat was in an incredibly good mood. Which was incredibly lucky for the man in front of her, because had she not been in a good mood she would likely have been more irritated than amused at the current situation. She did in the courtesy of hearing him out then, when he had finished, she smiled.

“You are not the Dark Wolf. I am.”

At her side, she heard Nathaniel give a brief snort of laughter, and Cat had to resist the urge to turn to him and smile. They were making slow, careful steps with each other… but the feelings were still there. She was still in love with him and, despite all odds, she believed that he loved her, too. It was because of that knowledge, and the resulting happiness that had settled on her heart, that kept her from being too terribly angry.

Even behind the guard helmet, Cat could see the shocked expression that flooded into her new acquaintance’s eyes. “I- I had no idea. Forgive me, my lady. To be honest, since the thefts stopped just before the Battle of Denerim, I’d assumed the original Dark Wolf had died. I assure you, I meant no disrespect.”

“And none as been taken,” she assured him. “I gave up the mantle, obviously.” She passed him a pouch of coin. “Get me the answers I seek. Assuming I am satisfied with what I am paying for, I am willing to let the matter of the stolen identity pass.”

“As you say, my lady.” The new ‘Dark Wolf’ walked away, blending almost seamlessly into the crowd. Cat shook her head in mock exasperation then headed in the direction of the inn, Nathaniel at her side.

“So,” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Cataline Cousland turning to a life of petty crime. I have to say, I did not see that coming.”

She looked up at him, trying to school her face into an expression of innocence. “What? You think you’re the only one who learned how to pick a pocket over the years?”

“I would simply think it unnecessary,” he shrugged. “One look at those eyes of yours and most sane people would be falling all over themselves to give you whatever you asked.”

Cat swallowed hard, praying he could not hear her heart racing against her chest. She tucked her arm through his and, to her pleased surprise, he accepted the gesture. “You think so, do you?”

He paused, reaching a hand to her chin and tilting it gently so that she was facing him. 

“Absolutely.” 


	27. Coat

“They’re very… large, aren’t they?”

Cat resisted the urge to laugh, which she was fairly certain was not the reaction Sigrun was looking for. “Lark is not particularly large for a horse,” she shrugged, reaching for the brush the animal in question loved best. “You should have seen Alexander, Loghain’s horse. He was massive, but sweet as can be and flawless in battle. Thea’s horse, on the other hand, Aurora? Can be an absolute pill. Only seems to get along with Thea, Loghain, and Alexander, and even then she sometimes will nip at Loghain if he’s not paying attention.”

Sigrun’s eyes were growing wide. “I’d like to meet the person who first looked at a horse and said, ‘yeah, I want to climb on up there and see what happens.’”

Cat did giggle then. “You have brontos in Orzammar, and they are far bulkier than horses.”

“True,” Sigrun agreed, “But generally speaking, most dwarves don’t try to ride brontos. We have better sense than that.”

“Yes, well,” Cat rolled her eyes, “Talk to Oghren about it sometime. He may disabuse you of that belief.” She still remembered the night at camp when he had regaled them all with his tales of bronto-busting and his reputation as a champion bronto rider. The worst part was, she had absolutely zero doubt he was telling the truth. About trying to ride brontos, at least.

“So…” Sigrun steered the conversation back, “Do I actually have to… you know… ride one?”

“Well, if you plan on coming into the field with us, then… yes?” Cat said as gently as she could. “Time is not on our side, I’m afraid. But I promise, we will find a nice, gentle mount for you. As small as we can find without resorting to ponies.”

“Ponies?”

“Smaller, stockier, and generally a void of a lot meaner,” Cat replied flatly. “Trust me. You want to stick to a horse.”

Sigrun still didn’t look convinced, so Cat gave Lark a final brush before setting it aside and reaching into her pocket. “Here.” She handed Sigrun an apple. “Try giving her this. Keep your palm flat when you hold it up to her, and let her close the distance.”

Her friend stepped forward warily. Then, with a hand that only shook a little, she slowly reached up and offered the apple to Lark. Lark, pleased by the unexpected treat, snuffled slightly against Sigrun’s palm as she gently took the proffered fruit and munched it happily. Then she stepped back, her tattooed face beaming. “I did it!”

Cat smiled.

“You absolutely did.”


	28. Ride

Cat needed to get the void out of Vigil’s Keep.

Lips in a thin line and an uncharacteristic fire burning in her violet eyes, she stalked into the stables and began saddling Lark. Maybe a good, long ride and the chance to cool off would be enough to calm her down and be the leader she was supposed to be again. Right now, with tears stinging in her eyes and the unfamiliar blaze of jealousy in her heart, she could not be Cataline the Warden-Commander. She could barely even be Cat, the person.

This was not who she was. This was not who she was supposed to be.

Cat was supposed to be calm, and reasonable, and kind. A level head amongst hot tempers and clashing personalities. She had made it through the entire maker-damned blight, only to be brought down by this. Maybe it would have been better if she had simply let the archdemon take her soul after all.

“Wildflower? Are you alright?”

She paused briefly, her heart clenching for a breath of time when she heard his voice, his words holding such a heartbreaking blend of concern and compassion that she could not stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. “I am fine, Nathaniel,” she finally managed, though the words were barely more than a whisper. “I simply need some time away from the Keep.”

Nathaniel stepped closer, confusion written in the silvery light of his eyes. “Do you want company? You left the hall so quickly we were not sure what had happened.”

Cat felt her entire body stiffen as the words and laughter that had sparked her departure crept back into her mind’s memory. “I should think you would prefer to keep Velanna company,” she pointed out coldly.

“What in the world are you talking about, Cat?” He asked, taking a few steps nearer but not crowding her. His brow was knit in confusion, and she realized he really had no idea what he had done.

“I heard you flirting with her,” she muttered, her eyes falling away. She worked at Lark’s saddle, trying to distract her hands. “Something about pretty brushes and ‘my lady’ and…” Cat paused, taking a deep breath to try and douse the fire in her words.

“Oh, Cat,” Nathaniel sighed, reaching out a hand to her. Cat hesitated for a moment, then accepted the gesture, allowing him to pull her into his arms and hold her tightly against his chest. “I am so sorry, Wildflower,” he murmured, his lips pressing against the top of her head. “That was not my intent, at all, though of course in hindsight I can see the problem. I just wanted her to stop picking on the others so much. I thought maybe a few kind words would soften her temper a bit. It always seemed to work with Thea.”

Cat could not help but give a soft giggle at that. “Well… yes… but it never felt like you were flirting with Thea.”

“Thea would have teased me mercilessly if I had,” he pointed out, and when he tilted her chin up to face him, he was smiling. “Cataline, my love, my only,” he said gently, his thumb gently wiping away her tears, “You are the love of my life. Only you. And I will be more careful with my words going forward. I promise.”

Cat nodded. “And I will try not to be so jealous,” she agreed. “I… I admit, it is a new and unpleasant feeling. But I trust you. And I know you love me.”

Nathaniel nodded, leaning down to meet her lips with his own.

“Only you, Wildflower.”


	29. Injured

“Well, good news. It does not appear as though she has injured him too terribly. At least, not on the surface.”

Cat laughed at Loghain’s observation, watching patiently as Thea and Nathaniel walked back towards the Keep from the direction of the forest. She would have been lying if she had said there had been no anxiety regarding her husband’s reunion with her favorite cousin, his best friend, but it seems she had worried for nothing. Both Thea and Nathaniel simply seemed to be glad to have their friendship back, even if the former would have to leave again far too soon.

“She is so much happier,” Cat noted, tucking her arm through Loghain’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I am so happy the two of you finally found your way to each other.”

“I am still not certain I deserve her,” he replied quietly, but there was the hint of a smile tilting at his lips, “But I love her. With everything that I am. And I am going to spend the rest of my life trying to be the man she does deserve.”

Cat smiled up at him. “Loghain, I have absolutely no doubt. Just as I have no doubt that you are already exactly who she deserves because of it. She loves you, fiercely, and the two of you were practically made for each other.”

“I used to roll my eyes at that idea, you know,” he pointed out wryly. “But… but yes. With Theadosia, I feel… I feel as though my life is finally where it was meant to be. Being banished to Orlais will not be so bad with her at my side.”

“And she always will be,” she reassured him, her smile broadening as Nathaniel and Thea finally reached them.

“See?” Thea pointed out with an exaggerated air of innocence as she stepped away from her best friend and into Loghain’s arms. “I have returned your husband in exactly the same condition as when we left on our little stroll.”

“Even my eardrums are more or less intact,” Nathaniel deadpanned, wrapping his arm around Cat’s shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I have to admit, Loghain, I never in a million years thought someone would actually make her smile like you do.”

Thea rolled her eyes, but Cat saw the way her head had nestled a little closer against Loghain’s chest, and the softness in the smile on his lips as he looked down at her.

“Yes, well… don’t let it get out. I have a reputation to maintain.”


	30. Catch

By the time they made it upstairs to their bedroom, Cat was more than content to simply fall back against the bed and close her eyes. She would eventually need to get up and take off her clothes and do her evening ablutions, but for the moment it was enough to just have a chance to catch her breath. It had been a joyous, wonderful, amazing evening full of laughter and love and light, and it had been exhausting.

She was not even remotely surprised when Nathaniel collapsed face down on the bed beside her. Cat rolled over slightly so she could run a gentle hand up and down his back, fingers dancing lightly over his spine. “Mmrph. Don’t even tempt me like that,” her husband groaned, the words muffled by the pillow. “You know I have absolutely no willpower when it comes to you.”

Cat giggled softly, brushing a kiss against Nathaniel’s nose as he turned his head to face her. “No worries there, love,” she reassured him. “I am just as tired as you are, I suspect. Worth it, though.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, reaching over and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “I am glad they decided to have the wedding here, last minute as it was. It was worth the mad dash of preparations and planning to see the look in their eyes as they made their vows to each other.”

She gave a soft sigh of contentment, nuzzling her cheek closer to Nathaniel’s chest. “It really was. I am going to miss them, you know. I feel as though we are all finally back together, and now they have to leave for Orlais.”

“I know, Wildflower,” Nathaniel spoke softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he stood up and began undressing for bed, and Cat did the same. “I will miss them, too. But at least we got to share this moment with them, and I feel better knowing that Thea has finally found someone who loves her truly and deeply just the way she is.”

When they had finally finished their night routine, they crawled back into bed together, and Cat snuggled up next to Nathaniel and just let the warmth of his body against hers calm the thoughts still whirling in her mind. “Nathaniel?”

“Yes, Wildflower?”

“I am glad I found you, too,” she murmured, her lips brushing softly against his skin as he held her close. “After everything that went wrong last year, and after everything I lost, I am so, so, infinitely glad that at the end of it all, I found you. And against all odds, you love me still.”

“Cat, I would wait for you until the end of time,” Nathaniel promised. “No matter what happens, and no matter what life throws at us, you will always have me. I lost you once; I will never lose you again. I love you, and I always will.”

Cat smiled, her eyelids fluttering shut as she finally felt the fade tugging at her mind.

“I love you too. Always.”


	31. Ripe

Vigil’s Keep was, for once, blessedly quiet. It had been nearly six months since the battle against the Mother and the dual attacks on both the Keep and the city of Amaranthine, and in that time repairs and reconstruction had been moving apace. More often than not, the industrious ringing of hammers and saws rang out in the air, a stubborn insistence that the wardens and the people had survived, and they would continue to survive. They would rebuild, and they would live.

Today, however, Cataline had insisted the workers take the day off to enjoy what may very well be the last warm, pleasant day of autumn before the rains came. When the weather turned, most of the work would have to cease for the season, but one day of relaxation and revelry would not make much of a difference on balance. And, perhaps selfishly, she needed some peace and quiet of her own: a day free of decisions and planning and orders.

With the immediate threat gone, most of Cat’s companions and colleagues had since left the Keep. Anders had said goodbye months ago, a new and disturbing shadow in his eyes that had sparked an uneasiness in her. Cat had never received a good answer as to what had happened to Justice after his ‘death’ in battle, and even now she was not certain if it had been compassion or fear that had silenced the question she had wanted to put to Anders.

Oghren had made the journey east to Lake Calenhad to see Felsi and his child, a journey that Cat had encouraged. Despite the dwarf’s best attempts, she knew he loved them both, in his own imperfect way. Cat did not have the faintest idea where Velanna had gone and, if she were being honest, she did not much care. She was breathing a little easier without having to walk on eggshells around the other woman. Sigrun was still there, but her presence was cheerful and pleasant, and much of her free time was spent poring through the Keep’s library or tending to her growing collection of potted plants.

A warm pair of arms wrapped around her waist, and Cat smiled as she leaned back into her husband’s embrace, her gaze still wandering outside their bedroom window from where they stood on the balcony. “Is it utterly selfish of me to be glad I have you to myself?” He asked, leaning down to brush a kiss against her cheek.

“Funny,” Cat laughed softly, “I was literally just thinking the same thing.” She breathed a sigh of contentment, letting her head fall back against Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Do not let me think about anything responsible today, alright? Nothing about the construction on the east wing, or what crops are ripe and need to be harvested before the frost, or-” Her list was silenced as Nathaniel turned her in his arms and his mouth met hers, the rest of her thoughts falling away as she sank into their kiss.

“Starting now,” he murmured softly when they parted. “No work. No responsibilities. Just us, for the rest of the day, Wildflower.”

Cat smiled, arching onto her toes to kiss him again. “It will always be us, Nathaniel,” she promised.

“Always.”


End file.
